So, I have two years sober today.
Thought I might prepare some sort of speech. I don't know, something.
What it was like, what happened, what is like now.
What it was like: I wasn't a nice person. At all.
What happened: My world was crashing down- I was losing my friends, bombing out of school which I didn't often attend, I had a nice list of misdemeanors racked up... I was falling apart. My head was getting pretty weighty and I had to run some damn direction to keep from losing my mind in addition to everything else. My family didn't trust me for obvious reasons, I was down to a room without a door, it was public knowledge I had relapsed- for the first time in my drinking career, I blacked out and woke up in restraints in the hospital, my mom looking extremely distressed by my side. But I kept drinking and, eventually, blacked out again- woke up puking in the basement of my father's house, great daughter.
Great friend because pretty much every time I got arrested, I brought someone down with me. I lied because I could, because I didn't know what I had lied about and what lie I needed to keep up. I manipulated people because I didn't want to end up alone, because misery loves company, because it was nice to be in control of someone. Power for the powerless.
But the end came because everything was adding up- and I would have kept drinking and popping coricidin for a long long time... except the speed broke me first. I started smoking speed which I knew I would do eventually- hell, which I hoped I would do eventually. Out of boredom, curiousity, insanity, whatever, I had started crushing up whatever various pills I found around my or anyone else's house and snorting them. Practice was what I considered it.
Did that for a while until I figured I was far enough down to move on to something harder. Started smoking speed when there was a pipe and snorting it when there wasn't. And I hated it. I hated being up all night- I was so fucking tired, sitting on the floor of my room having removed everything from every drawer and starting to organize it... and thinking to myself, looking at the damn mess; what the fuck am I doing? Holy shit... this is nuts. And then I organized everything and snorted some more speed that wasn't actually mine and I would never give any indication of having stolen.
I skipped school more and more. I lied more. I was so damn strung out.
Drank when I was able, saved up lunch money to buy triple C because I had gotten caught too many times in the grocery stores.
Smoked some speed and was just fucking gone. So tired, I knew I was crazy, my jaw hurt because I compulsively popped it, and I had pretty much fucked every relationship to the point of scaring my friends off and exhausting the people who had to stay with me- my family.
Snorted more of someone else's speed and sat on my bed in the middle of the morning, a school day- I was home rather than at school- and thought how much I hated speed, how it made me miserable, decided I would never use it again without meaning it for a split second... and then I thought of all the occasions, though, that I would use it again, where it would be appropriate and surely I wouldn't be so miserable, looked over at the tape player I hid the little bag of speed in and wondered how much was left...
For the first time I truly knew and understood that I was addicted. I had said it before and had some vague idea of what it meant, went through rehab and said yadda yadda yadda but it didn't really hit me.
I sat on that bed looking at the sun coming through the blinds and knew I was out of control, absolutely insane. I hate it and I already know I am going to use it again, probably in a few hours. And I understood what it was to be an addict. I knew it, once I got to that point there was no doubt in my mind- it fit too well to doubt.
I sat there and the situation was very bad... but, here's the thing: I was intrigued- a new disease, with new symptoms- figured I could make it beneficial rather than a burden- a whole new batch of excuses and I loved excuses. Excuses to compulsively use drugs, relapse, whoops, what do you expect. Excuses to get out of the things I am expected to do.
Sitting on that bed, insane, strung out, miserable, I was planning how I could twist, turn, manipulate my new ailment to my advantage. I didn't plan on quitting- I had finally gotten low enough to slip under every expectation and reality- now, maybe just for a while longer, I would be able to drown in whatever vice I chose, smoke speed- hell, maybe something stronger because I had been curious about cocaine, asking around a bit- what an interesting revelation.
No, addiction isn't bad- well, you know, not really at least- its the perfect excuse to fuck up even more. That's what my brain did.
Decided I would finish off the speed, had some coricidin left that I scraped the coating off then crushed and snorted, ditched school... thought I'd wait it out for a dry spell when I couldn't get more drugs or alcohol and then swoon and admit my distress and milk it.
There was a different, divine plan though.
In getting in deeper, the people around me finally refused to follow me down. When I went to school, I was alone in so many ways that at that point, I could hardly stand it. I kept using, ditching, being flatout mean when I was around them... So now, my last source of influence was gone and I was completely weak. Fuck. Something had to give. Not feeling so good about my plan now. Thinking its getting really miserable and my jaw hurts. I'm insane. What the fuck am I doing.
The speed was gone and I left class, walked the campus a few minutes and everything was so gray. Nowhere to go but I walked off anyway.
Where am I going? Fuck fuck fuck. Where the hell am I going? This is insane. I'm insane. I don't know what I'm doing. Fuck.
Stopped in the middle of a field just down the street and, shit, what now?
Someone help me. I didn't pray to God then. I asked my great grandmother for help. I believe she watches over me, I had been writing to her for a month or so and I knew she would guide me... and I knew how much she valued family.
So I called my mom. I was out of speed. Thank God, I was out of speed. And did I seriously just think that? Yes, I did. I did.
I walked back to the school, sat in the front and cried some, waiting for my mom to pick me up, trying not to think about what I would say.
And she came, concerned and I didn't think of it as over-bearing for the first time in a long time but that she really cared and I was so relieved because there wasn't anyone else.
I know I cried a lot and told her about the speed and I don't know what all.
Driving home everything was still gray but I kind of started to think that maybe I remembered the sky being blue and I was 13 again. I'm an addict. I'm an alocholic.
I knew those things- it was more difficult admitting I was powerless even though I know it was true. I thought I could be give control to a higher power AND keep my joint roller. It was difficult to fully give up everything.
And it was a very gradual process: first, practically giddy and smiling my butt off, I cleaned out the pill wrappers, Ace of Spades I used to cut lines, the empty bottles in my closet, the torn paper from the bible tried unsuccessfully to roll joints with- never burned well, even my joint roller went in the trash.
Did cut ties with all my friends which wasn't too hard for them because I was such a burden really. Deleted the phone numbers off my cell, stopped going to the grocery store where I often saw them, actually avoided the areas entirely where they hung out... but this took time.
Everything took a little time.
I didn't start this intending to live the rest of my life without getting fucked up but now, 2 years later I cannot imagine my life any other way- I cannot imagine not being sober, I will not ever see another day in this life any way but sober and every day you can add one more day I have been clean. So help me God or Gran or Jesus, the higher power that has brought me here. now. and if nothing is pointless, everything has a meaning than I am here with 2 years today for a reason- it is for a reason far greater than I am able to understand, question, or disrespect. Every day I have more and more reasons to stay sober- there is far too much to lose, more and more each day. And it would not make me happy. This makes me happy.
What's it like now?
Well, I could tell you that I have been to Las Vegas, San Francisco, on two cruises, rode horses in Colorado and watched the snow heading in over Pike's pass, went up to Big Bear in the winter and had a good time absolutely legally; have gone on two roadtrips- I have a door now that I never lock, a license, truck, laptop, new room that isn't purple, all the nice things... but that's material stuff isn't it. Really, its not the most important.
I have good grades, very much like and respect my teachers, and am not nearly as mean I hope. I'm 17 and if I get my ass to the gym, I will start college in the fall.
Still, that's not the best part.
I have earned back the trust of my family, I enjoy spending time with my grandparents, I have a very sweet and lazy dog, its all very pleasant and positive.
But still, that isn't the best part.
You want to know what's great?
Being willing to unload the dishwasher, to share my writing with my family, decorating doors and mirrors for special occasions- getting quotes from my mom in the mornings and the daily "just seeing how your doing" phone calls; David cooking dinner and the family eating together including CJ, the history channel or CSI or poker always being on the TV when I come downstairs; seeing you guys happy and not exhausted or miserable... smiling at David and him smiling back and thinking that I very truly love and like this person and being so appreciative that he is here; being able to go on a cruise with you guys and have a really good time,